


What Happened at the Pub

by Holmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holmes/pseuds/Holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dmitri Volkov, the newest employee to join Moriarty's empire, takes us through the story of how he happened upon Sebastian at the pub one night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happened at the Pub

**Author's Note:**

> This is an expatiation of a scene from an RP, hence the unfamiliar characters and presence of an obvious backstory. Sebastian has recently suffered a traumatic injury that sent him into a coma for six months. After his waking, his personality was slightly altered but his love and loyalty to Jim remained unchanged. Struck with an epiphany of _carpe diem_ , the sniper proposed to Jim. Although he obeys Jim's orders to remain in his hospital room, he can't help but sneak out one night in an attempt to reclaim a bit of his lost life and celebrate his recent engagement.

Dmitri had been exhausted lately. Tracking down Warren was proving difficult, if not impossible. Frustrated with seeking out the man to no avail, tonight Volkov elected to watch over Jim and Sebastian instead; figuring, hell, if he couldn’t find Warren, the least he could do was make sure the brute didn’t locate his employers first.  


He had been stalking around the block of the hospital on lookout for the third night in a row. It was bitter work, his breath curling visibly from his lips in reaction to the thick cold that descended over London with the night, his joints stiff and unyielding in an ironic parallel to his search for Warren. By now, he was familiar with all the pubs and alleys, as well as the surprisingly lovely hospital courtyard, which carried its scent of lavender across the street in protest of the cold. Tonight was as quiet as ever, and so it could hardly be counted as a surprise (having enjoyed a mere six hours of sleep in the past three days) that poor Volkov dozed off on a bus stop bench around midnight.  


An ambulance careening around a corner towards the back of the hospital in a siren-steeped frenzy is what woke him. Ashamed and slightly embarrassed at his falling asleep, he shook off any stray dreamings and made for the nearest pub in search of something to wake him up a bit.  


Of course he was very surprised to see Sebastian there.  


The sniper was at the bar, his wheelchair abandoned and shoved unceremoniously under the worn-leather stool he sat on, with a large (and almost empty) glass of amber liquid in his grip.  


“Another one over here, mate!” Sebastian called, raising a finger to bring attention to himself. Not that he needed it. Dmitri quickly took in the details of the room—it was a decidedly friendly place tonight. One or two men sat in the darker corners with heavy expressions that told of their intentions to forget. The rest, though, seemed to be collectively celebrating. What’s more, they were all piled at the bar in a boisterous heap, centered on Sebastian.  


Yes, the illness-thinned Sebastian appeared to have made friends with the strangers around him, and was uncharacteristically buoyant, even accounting for his obvious intoxication. His new friends were all laying their hands across his back, slapping him with proud familiarity and punching him playfully across the arm, all roaring with too-loud laughter and singing various drinking songs out of key.  


“No, no!” A florid man on Sebastian’s right interjected with a hiccup. He stood from his stool, leaning heavily on the sniper as he ducked directly under the bar lights, bringing his flushed face to harsh attention. “Let me pay for ‘is drink! Fer _everyone’s_ drink! A whole round! Add it to me tab!” The stranger’s call was met with a chorus of approving shouts and cheers. It certainly was a scene.  


Volkov walked coolly up to the bar, nudging and weaving through the thick group of swaying men with practiced ease. He made his way to Sebastian’s side without notice. “What’re we celebrating?” he asked casually, clapping a hand onto his employer’s shoulder.  


“This lucky bastard is gettin’ married!” someone cried from behind Sebastian, leaning over his shoulder to snatch up his due from the plethoric display of freshly poured drink. At this interjection, Sebastian’s attention was stirred, and he did a confused double take before looking downward toward the boy, his eyebrows rising in surprise.  


“Volkov!” he said excitedly. “Jesus Christ. How’s it going, kid?”  


“You’re getting married?” the boy asked. He shook off his astonishment. “No. Nevermind, sir. I didn’t mean to pry. I—“  


“No, boy, it’s fine. It’s fine,” Sebastian insisted, his brows momentarily pulling together as he shook off Volkov’s reservations with a wave of his hand. He drained his nearly empty glass and pressed it away, wiping at his alcohol-wetted lips before laying claim immediately to another just-poured glass. He turned on his stool to face Dmitri, a stupid smile on his face. “Christ, I want to tell the world, you know? _Me_ , gettin’ _married_. Can you believe it? I proposed to Jim, and that handsome bastard said yes! Can you believe it? Can you believe my fucking luck?”  


Dmitri blinked—the extent of any signs of shock at this unexpected news. “Wow. That’s great. Congratulations." He felt the unease creeping into his stomach. Jim obviously didn't approve of Sebastian going out, not in his state; let alone revealing god knows what to a bunch of rowdy strangers. "I think maybe Jim might want you back at the hospital, sir.”  


“Don’t call me _sir_ , kid. We’re fucking friends, yeah? Call me Sebastian. Or Seb. Or Basher... They used to call me Basher in th’army. I fuckin’ hated it—used to beat anyone’s head in if they called me that on a bad day. Course, that only kept the nickname circulating…”  


“Okay, Sebastian, let’s go back to see Jim, then. Alright?”  


“—And I’ll call you Dmitri, now, yeah? That’ll be a deal. Or, wait—what the fuck was it that you said Jim called you when I was taking the big sleep? _Dom?_ Fuck that. M’gonna call you Demi, yeah? Demi. That’s a nice, dainty name for a lad like you.” He reached out a hand and pinched Dmitri’s cheek affectionately.  


“Okay, fine,” Dmitri said, losing his patience. He swatted Sebastian’s hand away. Jim was going to have his arse if he brought the sniper back as wasted as he was. But he had no other choice. “Let’s just go see Moriarty now, alright?”  


The sniper disregarded the boy, quickly growing distracted with another man on his right who was insistant on giving him marriage tips. Frustrated as hell, Dmitri gave a strong tug on Sebastian’s arm.  


“Sebastian,” he said firmly. “ _Our boss_ just called me. He said he really needed you. He wants you back with him immediately.”  


Sebastian turned to the boy again, fixing him with a knowing look, as though they both shared a secret. He turned towards the bar. “A round of shots!” he called, slapping his palm down on the polished bartop. Dmitri groaned.  


Everyone at the bar cheered with approval. Sebastian threw a friendly arm around the boy’s shoulders, pulling him close as the bartender began to fill several glasses in front of them. “Alright, kid,” he grinned. “I know when I’m being dragged back from the pub. I’ll go willingly. But first you gotta have a couple o’ drinks, yeah?”  


“I don’t think that’s a good idea, si—Sebastian. Jim wanted you right this minute.”  


“You’re lyin’. He was sleepin' like a baby when I left him. Just a couple drinks, is all!”  


“No.”  


“Don’t be fucking _touchy_ , Christ. One shot, then. Don’t be a little bitch.”  


Volkov tightened his lips. “Fine,” he hissed. “But then we’re going _straight_ back to the hospital, alright?”  


“You got it, Demi.”


End file.
